Backyard Chemistry

Last night, I did it. Got into the hot tub, I mean. All day, CoolGuy had been working on the pool. He rented a power washer and scrubbed it down. Then he used a sprayer and gave it an acid wash, then he washed it all again and drained and scrubbed with the wire broom and rinsed and swept. Whew...I need to tell you why, huh? Chemistry!

We've lived in several different eco-systems in our trekking about the country, and each of them has revealed some knowledge that locals are privy to, and new people have to learn, usually the hard way. Some of the bits were relatively painless, some harder. (Painless: put all your crackers and cookies into sealed plastic containers (ala Tupperware) in So. Cal. because the subtle humidity won't affect you, but it will make your soda crackers limp. Harder: every single thing you own will be covered with mildew and mold if you leave it in an environment (ie: garage attic) without air conditioning when you live in Maryland. Clothing, paper, plastic, etc. EVERYTHING gets moldy there. (I'll never live in Florida.)

So, what have we learned in Nevada, boys and girls? We learned swimming pool chemistry. One day last December, I was out looking at the pool for some reason and realized that it looked odd. The water had something in it---like clear gelatin, but shaped like little tiles the size of your thumbnail. You could reach into the water and feel them, but if you got a handful, it wasn't substantive enough to actually pick them up. They disintegrated when you took them from the water. Weird...

CoolGuy did some investigation and we learned that when you have a swimming pool in Las Vegas you need to empty the water out of it entirely about every three years in order to keep the mineral content in the water at a particular ratio. Or else, when the temperature drops to just the right low (maybe 40 degrees, I forget--it was quite cold) the minerals will precipitate from a solution into a solid form. Voila: we had performed a chemistry demonstration in our backyard.

All the time we've had this house and pool, we had just been adding water whenever we needed to compensate for evaporation. Of course, it was the desert's mineral-filled water. We have a water softener hooked up for household use, and I take my refillable bottles to the filtered machines every week because the tap water tastes yucky. So... as we added liquid, we were also adding dissolved minerals and, after six years, we'd finally achieved the correct solution, and the temperature got low enough for the transformation.

We just let the weird pool water sit there and we only used the hot tub, refilling and filtering it independently from the pool. And that was fine while it stayed cold. But a few days of balmier weather at the end of January quickly led to a yucky green hue, so CoolGuy emptied the pool. He let the residue dry a little, and there were two wheelbarrows full of powder to be shoveled out. When it was dry, it resembled the stuff inside of a piece of drywall. That's not too surprising, since there is a gypsum mine and drywall plant just up the road and over the hill in the desert to the east. However, it also could just be calcium.



This is a view of the empty pool with the powder stuff. There are also plenty of leaves and other wind blown debris in it too. So, he cleaned it all up and the pool has been sitting empty for a couple of months. We cut back all the dried grass and trimmed up the plants around the pool, and then this week, the weather has been excellent, and CoolGuy had the time to devote to the rest of the chore of pool renovation.

Here's a close-up of a grass seed-head that had drooped into the pool during this time. Notice how it is all covered in crystals? Every leaf and blade of grass and the pool cleaner hose and anything in the pool was also covered entirely with crystals. It was surreal.

But, you can see all the build-up of the minerals on the side of the pool, huh? So, after researching what to, CoolGuy got the powerwasher and the muriatic acid and went to work. Lots of it came right off with the power washer, he had to work harder at other spots--like where some leaves were resting (stains), but it looked fabulous and clean and smooth when he was finished, hours later.

Then, it was time for the refill. (Oooh--that water bill is going to be scary.) It took several hours, but the spa can be refilled independently of the pool, so CoolGuy did that, and turned on the heater. He was definitely ready for some soaking. I'd spent so much time outside watching and getting excited over the renovation that I decided I'd try the spa too. It was easy as the bathtub: sit down on the edge, remove RoboCop boot, swing legs over into the water, and gently sit myself down on the top step. Awwwww...relax, soak, enjoy. Nice!

And now we know: empty pool every three years to avoid Science Experiments at Home.

The Life of the Invalid

Here I am on my Jabba the Hutt throne. I've opened up my futon couch so that it is easy to climb off the side onto the cart and go to other parts of the house. Also, then I can store the newspaper or magazines or scriptures I'm reading right beside me. It's also much less claustrophobic than having it folded up into a couch. I prop up the foot; often I have it wrapped in the cooler. Note my tray table with dinner. CoolGuy has my phone cord plugged in nearby.

Well, I do get up and cook things now and then. I was making albondigas soup this day. It was last week before I got the fiberglass cast taken off. The little knee walker cart is fabulous. I can balance on it and stand by the stove. CoolGuy has been feeding me. Two or three times I've cooked. But he always serves and cleans up. He's a trooper. Sometimes, I just give him directions and he makes the whole meal.

And I did sit on my cart and do all the ironing on Saturday--three weeks worth. But I rather enjoy ironing...I know...weird. He had to put everything away, though. Mostly, however I lay there on the futon and prop up my foot and read or nap or watch vapid things on T.V.

Today, I got up and bathed and washed my hair and went to church. It was nice, and somewhat disorienting because I haven't been there in over three weeks. Also, my usual view of church is from the organ bench, so it was odd to be sitting in the last row in a corner. Some nice young men fetched one of the upholstered chairs from the lobby so I could sit comfortably with my leg propped up on my cart seat. (I wore a long flowing skirt so I could have the extra fabric for tucking around my leg.) But, it was fun singing for a change. I went home after Sacrament meeting because I couldn't figure out how I was going to sit in the Sunday School classroom with the cart and the propping and all. It's pretty crowded in there. Beside, by the time I'd gone through all the effort to get ready and got over there, I was tired and I figured maybe by next week I'll have more energy to survive the entire meeting block.

Here is a charming card made on poster paper that one of my co-workers brought over. It was passed around to all the classes for signing. I was most impressed by the correct usage of apostrophes and capital letters and spelling! Also, it was very sweet.

It's almost been three weeks: half-way to standing on it again! I can tell though, from the occasional mistakes where I turn it the wrong way, or move it differently, that getting to stand on this foot again is going to be a process. It's very, very sore. PT is going to be excruciating.

And a new body-fail has happened! Wow...don't get old if you're not tough. I went to the ophthalmologist last week after I realized that the blurry spot on my glasses was not on the lens but on my eye. I developed a bunch of new big floaters. He diagnosed it as the inevitable deterioration of the vitreous gel in the eyeball. Now there is liquid and the floater is pigment and cells in a clump which will eventually sink to the bottom. However...this liquid stresses the retina and so Monday I will go in and get a laser repair to a weak spot to prevent my retina from tearing. Gee, I'm glad I got right on it when I noticed the floaters. I do not want a torn retina. I've heard from relatives and friends that this is a very bad thing.

So, here I am--Jabba-like, reclining on my throne. Periodically I go into the computer because I have several projects that need to be completed--some students papers to correct (I'm helping my teacher/sub by correcting what he assigns, so he can correct what his sub is doing--we need grades) and something for college and something for being out sick for the district. I really don't have nothing to do, but I do have to be careful and not overdo, because the foot objects and swells up and gets painful. So, slowly and carefully, I creep around on hands and knees or on the little scooter and now and then, I lay there and heal.

My Fan Club

Yesterday was the presentation of my school's Spring Fine Arts Festival. It is a collaboration of the fine arts specialists who choose a theme and then each of them works with students to rehearse and present a part of the program. The music teacher has the choir and the recorder club perform. The P.E. teacher taught the 4th and 5th grade students three different dance numbers. The librarian has a story telling festival each year and chooses some of those students to perform. The art teacher is in charge of all the scenery and has students help him. Plus, student art is displayed in the halls for the day of the presentations when parents and other guests visit for the programs (presented 3 times--one in the evening.) So, it is a very elaborate event, and the practicing and preparation begin immediately after we return from winter break. I wouldn't have missed it for anything!

Yesterday, a lady from church came to take me over to school. (CoolGuy was involved in an on-line meeting the entire morning--he picked me up at noon.) We drove over and got my little cart all ready to go. She held the doors for me to go in and I turned the corner to enter the cafeteria where the presentation was going to be. I knew that the choir would be in place, and all the participants would be there so they could get their costumes on, ready for the 10:00 A.M. performance. Also, since the 9:00--9:50 block of specials is the fourth grade time, I also knew that many of my students would be in there. The music teacher would have nowhere else for that class to be. What I didn't expect was their reaction.

As I turned into the doorway to enter the cafeteria and find a seat, a little thrill rushed through the room. Then someone shrieked, "It's Mrs. [EarthSignMama]!!" A cheer went up and got louder, then they all started clapping! One or two of the more impulsive ones jumped up and started running over, which encouraged a flood--which was checked by all the teachers (including me) gesturing and calling out to just stay put, please. But, seriously, I was overwhelmed! If I'd have had Justin Bieber on my arm, they'd wouldn't have been more excited to see me.

I watched the program, which was completely boffo as usual. We have the most amazing people working at our school! Then, I went down to the fourth grade rooms and spent about an hour. I got out some more things from my file cabinet to help my sub with some issues. I talked to the students about how I was doing and when I hoped to be back. I took an artifact in that would help the Social Studies teacher explain the era of Nevada history they were studying currently. I also had the chance to stop by the office and sign my evaluation for this year. (Yes, I'm good enough to teach another year.) It was a fun day.

I was so exhausted from spending two hours there, that I came home and spent the rest of the afternoon asleep. So, I guess I'm not ready to return yet. But hopefully by the end of this month, I'll have healed enough to be able to go back when the doctor predicted. It is nice to know I'm missed, though.

Stupid Feet Gazette: FrankenFeet Edition

(Don't scroll down and look at the photos if you are prone to squeamishness.)

We went to the doctor again today. It has been 13 days since the surgery. The assistant removed my cast. I guess I've never actually had a cast on, or at least I don't remember, because having her use that vibrating cutter that they use to remove a cast was quite bizarre! I've seen this tool used on my children's casts and I know it does not harm your skin and is simply vibrating at high speed to cut through the hard material. But it tickled so badly on the first cuts that I had to really concentrate not to allow my foot to fly up and smack her in the face. When she went down the other side there was some flexibility to the cast, so it wasn't so ticklish.

So here is my leg/foot all bandaged up. It was swollen quite a bit, which surprised me. It shouldn't have, though. Despite my faithfully using the cooler on my foot for more than half of each day, this poor foot had been extensively renovated, and what should have been surprising was that it was only swollen this much.

Next, she carefully removed all the bandaging. It is reassuring to see that they'd wrote "YES" on the leg and the side of the leg that needed the surgery. I'd forgotten that the pre-op nurse did that while I was still unmedicated after consulting with me that this was, indeed, the procedure, and the foot, I'd come in to have messed with.

Then, she had to pluck out the staples on my incision. There were a lot of staples. She used a tool that functioned rather like the instrument I use in school when changing out a bulletin board. The point is set under the staple, and then she closes the handles and it just plucks out the staple...except that these sharp staples are fastened to your skin with all of its nerve endings...ouch, ouch, ouchy, ouch. I practiced Lamaze by rubbing my knee and talking to CoolGuy and keeping my eyes open and my leg relaxed. There were about fifteen of them, too, as I recall. It's a pretty long incision.

The long, curved incision is where the tendon piece was removed and then the ends grafted to the other tendon in my foot. The smaller stitches up on my calf are where he went in and "lengthened" the gastrocnemius tendon/muscle so that my foot will sit correctly on the floor. The whole back of my leg is very tender and hurts severely with even a teeny movement right now. There is also an incision on the outer part of my foot, parallel to the sole where he cut into the heel bone to insert the titanium wedge, but the photo didn't turn out. So, there are all the injury points that must heal. I did notice, however, something that looked weird to me. Then, I realized that actually it was how my foot was supposed to look all along. The heel was straight under my foot. I mean, I couldn't seen any part of my heel shoved over to the right, like it has always been, most of my life. Yes, I will now be standing (well, when I can stand) on my heel instead of on the side of my foot with the heel shoved over to the side. Cool.

Then, the doctor came in and he declared that it all looked fine and dandy and he consulted the X-rays and approved of all he saw. He said I can actually get into the tub, take off the boot, then fill the tub, and soak my foot. Then, I should drain, dry foot, replace boot before trying to get out. So that is awesome! Tub time! I'm working on how to enter the spa in the back yard without actually moving my foot...but I won't even think about that for a week or two. I want all the wounds to be totally healed--no open skin at all.

We planned to see him again in four weeks and this time bring crutches to replace the cart. He agreed that I could probably go back to work on May 9th as I hoped, providing I continue to be a really good patient---stay off the foot, wear the boot, rest.

Of course, I'll be in the boot still and possibly on crutches going back to work, but the idea is to gradually introduce my foot to having weight put on it. I know that PT will start about then. That should be excruciating. You can't believe how flabby and wobbly my calf muscle is right now. It had already atrophied just from the month I'd worn the boot before the surgery. I measured each leg and the right leg was one inch smaller then. So, this journey is only just begun (cue The Carpenters...) and, yes, as a matter of fact, I am tired of it. But--I was thinking...I should practice my Spanish language skills with Rosetta Stone every day. Or I could practice the guitar every day. In a month, think of what I could accomplish! Stay tuned!

Spring Rituals

There is something about dirt that is just so satisfying. I mean digging in it, planting things. It feels good to root around and break up the clumps and see the worms wiggle around. It's satisfying to grub out the roots of the invading grass and the old left-over weeds from last year. Then you dig a nice hole and pull the bedding plant out of its pot, and set it down deep into it new home, pour in some water, fill it in with some sandy loam and pat all around it. Or you poke a little hole and slip a swollen bean seed in there and cover it and go on to the next site. The first night after you've transplanted the seedlings, they often look droopy and sad, but by morning they will perk up and stand up inside the tomato cages looking official. The bean seeds take a little longer to thrust their first leaves up through the soil, and then they seem to leap up the supports of their cage till finally the blossoms pop open and soon you'll be eating green beans alongside the caprese salad every summer evening.

CoolGuy got to feel all those feelings this spring. I watched from a patio chair. He got to plant the marigold border to ward off bugs from the tomatoes. (Superstition or reality---I'm unsure, but it works every year so far.) He grubbed around breaking up the clumps of mostly decayed lawn clippings from the compost bin that we'd dumped onto the raised bed in November. He shoveled it all up, incorporating the sandy soil and the luscious compost. He picked out the tomato plants and basil at the store and put them all lovingly into their new homes in our garden box.

At least I could help by re-potting the geraniums on the patio. I put new succulents into my Mexican pots to replace the ones that were frozen this winter in a sprinkler accident. I still have a little dirt under my nails from that teeny bit of gardening I did about an hour ago. I know the tomatoes will taste as good, and the basil will still send its powerful scent wafting into the atmosphere when I pluck its leaves, but I really love the digging part, too. >

Last spring, our grandson was here and we went together to buy the plants and he helped me dig it all up and plant everything. We had a great time and hopefully I've innoculated another generation with the need to do a little farming because spring is here. Guess who supervised the supervisor? She likes this time of year too because evenings are pleasant out on the grass and patio. Also, nothing happens around here without her careful observation and overview. Hey, she's the Queen, after all.

Power Boot

Got a new boot the other day. Any other time of my life, new shoes or boots would be so cool. I love shopping for shoes. I have a lot of shoes...Most of them are extremely practical, low-heeled, comfortable, useful for standing in all day. So, I'm a shoe shopper. However, the medical supply store doesn't carry cute shoes. Actually, I hope to never need most of the things the medical supply store carries! Here's what we came home with:



I'm calling it the RoboCop boot. It is going to replace this foot accessory that I'm currently sporting:

This is the fiberglass cast. In this photo, I have it wrapped with the cooling pad that is held on with a Velcro stretchy strap. When I'm lying down, this device is then plugged into a little condenser that pumps cool water through the whole pad and keeps my foot at a steady 43 degrees. You can see one of the valves poking up behind my toes. It is so much more convenient than ice packs--less messy, more consistent. I don't even think about it when I'm lying there on my futon bed reading the paper, napping, watching ridiculous fashion shows or those shows about people who have hoarding problems. I'm at the point where I rarely need pain meds anymore, so the T.V. is going to be off a lot more. I can read books!

Anyway, on Monday I go to the doctor to have the fiberglass cast removed, the wounds checked, staples removed, and then I'll leave in the RoboCop boot. I'm still not going to be allowed to put my weight on the foot, as I understand it. But, I will be able to lay in the sun on the patio without the boot for an hour in the morning and start tanning my legs---hope, hope, hope. I know he's said that I'm to wear the boot always, but, hey--one hour? I'll ask. Here's the poor ortho boot I have worn out in the last year. You can see the Storm Trooper boot has been through a lot. One of the straps tore off last month, so I pinned it back on.



There are inflatable plastic bladders on either side of the interior so that you can use a little hand pump (provided) to fill them up and hold your ankle snuggly so that it doesn't flop around inside of this contraption. However, one of the bladders is no longer able to inflate, so the boot fits oddly now when I wear it. Well, wore it during February and March before the surgery. The cover is put in place using Velcro and you can see how I've shredded it.



This boot is going to the trash, but I wanted to show you that, with enough persistence, one person can destroy a modern medical device designed to be tough and long-lasting.

A Week Out

Well, it's been a week of being post-op. One week. Only 5 more to go before I can begin to put weight on my foot. Five weeks. I really should quit whining. I have two sisters who had to have the same knee replacement done twice in a row because of a screw-up. Yes...there are many people worse off than I am. But it is still no fun to be laid up.

On the bright side, the sky is blue, it was 80 degrees today and I was awake the whole day. It really is a lovely time of year here in the desert. I feel like a plague to CoolGuy because he has to do practically everything for me. And I'd like him to do more: dig up my garden and plant some tomatoes and basil so we can get the caprese salad machine cranking. I'm confident he'll get to it. He's gotten to everything else...
a drink,
my lotion,
a cup of pudding,
another pillow,
cookies to dunk in my milk,
the mail,
the newspaper,
the kittycat,
a ride to the doctor,
a cantelope,
another blanket,
the remote control
...you get the drift of being the person who really can not do much beside lay there and ask for things. He assures me he's just fine and keep on asking. And he really means it. That's why he's the cool guy.

They Gave Me A Shot!

If this woman phoned you on Wednesday night, I apologize. THEY GAVE ME A SHOT! Really, when you come out of anesthesia, you feel just fine. Just fine... and that is the problem. You have no idea how loopy you are. So apparently I left phone messages with a couple of friends and family members while channeling Dharma.

But, I have a little more clarity today, so I'm blogging about the life of the invalid. Blah. I was told that there will be 4-6 weeks of this enforced leisure. I must not put any weight on the foot in the fiberglass cast. The bone must heal and it cannot if I step on it. This is the fourth day, and I'm ready to take it off and go back to my real life. Hey! However, I recognize that I really do have limitations.

Here's what I'm recovering from:
1) removal of 3 inches of posterior tibial tendon
2) the remains of said tendon were then grafted onto another tendon from the bottom of my foot
3) Achilles tendon was lengthened (and occasionally I get a "little" twinge from that area that lets me know that "lengthening" it doesn't feel good.)
4) a titanium wedge was inserted into a cut into a bone near my heel (or in my heel) to push my foot around into the position where my toes point forward when I walk instead of them pointing off to the northeast because of the collapse of my arch. So, even the slightest pull or resistance on the right foot or leg results in excruciating pain. Therefore, I am quite diligent in making sure my movements do not cause that.

I am right handed, and, apparently, right-footed too. I think my whole body does things in a right-sided dominant way unconsciously. So it takes a lot of concentration to use my left leg first and move my left side first when I do anything. I have to stop and think about what I'm attempting and how I'm going to do it. Also, since I've spent most of that last four days lying down and much of that time asleep, I'm not too full of vim and vigor. Every little movement requires great effort to scoot to the edge of the couch and then either lower myself to the floor to crawl or scooch along on my bottom. Or to stand on one leg and, holding onto furniture, hop over to my Knee Walker and crawl up onto it so I can scooter down the hall to the bathroom. Either choice leaves me gasping for breath or quivering from the exertion and there are lots of periods of just sitting/standing while I recover.

I have lain on the floor for two nights now, exercising my arms with my weights, and last night I got the yoga ball out and used it to do abdominal curls and strengthen my upper legs. So, I realize that it will be gradual and, if I am careful and diligent, I will improve daily. Monday we go to the doctor for a post-op visit. That's when I'll firm up the "removal of fiber-glass cast" date. But I know that occasion only starts the 3x weekly PT sessions and the storm-trooper-boot-for-a-couple-of-months period. Progress--we're striving for progress. So, I will have to practice patience and serenity in the meantime. Healing isn't a sprint.

PS: I have an excellent and attentive nurse who is standing by while I go through all these maneuvers, making sure I don't overdue it. It sounded like I was all alone here. No, no-- Nurse CoolGuy is feeding, bathing, and hovering over me in excellent form.

Stupid Feet Gazette Update

In four and a half hours I'm supposed to arrive at the hospital. Guess I'd better go to bed, huh? I finally got everything done at school that I'd hoped to. Mostly. Probably. Oh, well, whatever isn't done will just not get done. By me, at any rate.

An interesting machine was delivered today that pumps cool water through a little system that will be wrapped around my cast to deliver coldness to the injured/healing area. Pretty neato. CoolGuy was here to get all the info on its use. The doctor prescribed it to replace ice-packs. CoolGuy vacuumed for me. He picked up my pain killers. I guess we're set.

Thanks for all your good wishes and prayers. I don't know when I'll feel up to posting here next. But, as soon as I can, you'll be the first to know.

Almost Ready

I turned in my report card comments on time. I've printed off my awards assembly certificates. We cleaned out everyone's folders today of the previous trimester's left over debris. I almost have my substitute notebook filled. Wrote up six weeks worth of leave slips. I got my nails done: left toes red, right toes naked. Scrubbed the kitchen floor, washed the rug.

Now tomorrow at school, I think we'll rearrange the seating to separate all the frenemies for the last months of school. Then, I'll put all the piles from my desk into either the paper recycling bin or a box for later. I'll make sure there are pencils in my reserve box for the new teacher to pass out when needed. I'll gather up all the plastic bottles from their recycling bins and head for home.

I got a call today from a fellow who needed to make an appointment with me to show me how to use the ice machine for post-op. I gave him CoolGuy's phone number. He's coming over tomorrow to show Nurse Attila how to use it. I laughed---ice machine! Partay!! Hmmm...actually it's some type of cooling device to use with a fiberglass cast. I love technology. And Demerol....

Family Time

I got to be grandma at school! I read a book to the second grade, and I dropped in on preschool to meet the teacher.

I also went to a really nice wedding and saw most of my brothers and sisters and many of their children and grandchildren later on at a restaurant. My brother, the father of the groom, is an excellent and generous host. The whole shebang was terrific and lovely and he should be congratulated. I am always impressed at his general unflappable-ness. He is never short with people (in my presence) and he is pleasant and thoughtful. He was pretty much like this as a little kid, too, as I recall. I was ten when he was born, and I always enjoyed having him as my milking companion because he was so mellow.

Here are some highlights of the day.

• The lovely Danish accent of the grandfather who conducted the wedding ceremony.
• The tall and gorgeous bride and ever-smiling groom
• the mothers with smiles and tears simultaneously on their faces
• the freezing cold wind that whipped around us as we awaited the couple's presentation out on the temple grounds
• the puzzled looks on faces as yet another sister of the groom's father was introduced to the new inlaws (there are six of us...four in attendance)
• spending relaxed time eating a meal that none of us had to fix and chatting with my children and grandchildren
• how many wedding receptions have you attended where everyone paused partway through to triumphally sing the fight song of their favorite college that had just won a basketball game, ensuring a trip to the NCAA Sweet Sixteen bracket???

The best line of the night:

We drove through the city from the restaurant to the reception center and one adult cousin says to another adult cousin, "What are all the freakishly dressed people walking along the street doing?"

"Oh," came the reply, "It's the Lady GaGa concert tonight at the arena."

"And you're not there? I can't believe it!"

"Yeah, I had to decide...do I want to spend the evening with a bunch of crazy freaks? Or do I want to go the Lady GaGa concert?"

Family---it's the best!!

Bullet Points

• Just two more school days till I'm out for six weeks. I am not even close to ready! I was going to go through all the piles on my desk and clean it off. But now, I think I'm going to put the piles into a box, stick it in my closet and clean it out in May.
• Today is the anniversary of my dad's death---27 years ago. Wow...it seems like less than that. He still has a lot of influence in our family because we've chosen to remember him well.
• The weather here has been so nice this week. Warm, but not hot, sunny and breezy. It's a great time of year.
• I'm headed off to a family wedding this weekend. While I'm up in Utah, I get to go to my granddaughter's class and read a story. Yea! Being grandma is fun!
• I get to spend time with all of the grandkids---yea! Being grandma is fun!!
• I'm almost looking forward to the recovery time later this week because the last three weeks has been unbelievably frantic. Doctor visits, lab visits, pre-register at the hospital, filing forms with various entities to get time off or get tuition re-imbursed or get my insurance to authorize different conveniences. Then, it's also report card time---writing comments, filling out all the sections of our weird report card, printing off the awards for the assembly that I can't attend. But my co-workers will take care of it. I'm going to be ready for the rest.
• I feel extra tired because it takes a lot of effort to stomp around in this storm trooper boot. My hips are uneven, and I'm off-balance and have to watch where I step. Today, a boy slid out his chair just as I tried to pass behind him and I lost my balance and fell over on him and a girl sitting next to him. Luckily, I fell on them and not the floor. I'm tired every night from just moving around.
• Got to go pack! Flying out of here in two hours!

Kitty Cat Crisis

There was a double Kitty Cat crisis at our house this week. Instead of the usual: no one being here precisely at 5:00 P.M. to serve the little packet of kitty chicken; we've had two different events that probably burned up one or two of her nine lives.

One evening I came home from work, and CoolGuy asked me to go into the kitchen/dining room and look around to see if I could determine the cause of the near-meltdown of Her Royal Highness all afternoon. It had started about 1:00 P.M.--far too early for the normal "It's 93 minutes till 5:00!" harassment she does daily. She was stomping across the keyboard of his computer, she was up on the back of the chair tapping on his head. She'd stand in the doorway of his office meowing sharply and beseeching him to follow her. He tried letting her outdoors, but none of the usual efforts led to relief.

Finally at 4:59 P.M. he went into the kitchen to get the packet of kitty chicken and as he leaned down to pick up the bowl, he realized what the hours of panic had been all about. The dry food container was nearly empty. We have one of those dispenser types that is filled from the top and then as the animal consumes it, more shuffles down into the serving area. EXCEPT THERE WASN'T ANYMORE TO SHUFFLE DOWN. And there was actually a little space of blue plastic showing in the serving area indicating that by this time tomorrow there would be no more snacks for nibbling at all. Oh. My.

As he pointed me in the direction of the kitty cat relief station, I already knew what I'd see because two days before, as I'd put out the kitty chicken, I'd seen that the filler box was very low, but I'd been distracted and so didn't go immediately to the shelf and get the dry food to refill it. What a riot! My inattention was the cause of four hours of persistent harassment for CoolGuy by the desperate KittyCat who could not articulate her concerns. Good grief.

Then, on top of that anxiety I carelessly provoked, I've been the cause of another 24 hours of unrest. Because of the impending surgery and subsequent enforced idleness, I have been inspired to a frenzy of housework. On Saturday, I washed all of my bedding, right down to the mattress pad and the pillow covers. However, my wonderful corduroy comforter is too big to wash in my machine, so I went down to the laundromat to use their big front loader. I also used the occasion of my going out to do a little shopping and stopped off at the church to practice a difficult piece I'm playing to accompany a group for next week's Sacrament meeting. So, by the time I finished the actual washing and took home the damp comforter, it was around 8:00 P.M. It is quite big and cumbersome, and would have taken so long in the dryer, that I just hung it over a fence in the yard to dry overnight. You know---dry desert air and it was 75 degrees on Saturday....nice, huh?

Yes, yes, but...this meant that something else had to serve as our cover for last night. I got out a couple of other blankets that, together, covered us up nicely, but weren't the corduroy comforter. And the bed had been torn up all afternoon...

This morning, I brought in the comforter, but I didn't remake the bed until this evening. You'd have thought that the KittyCat was the elegant princess from the fairy tale of The Princess and The Pea. She hopped up on the newly made bed, and rolled around and groomed herself, and flopped out and pushed her paws on it. She'd been suffering for 24 hours without her corduroy comforter! What utter luxury to have it back in place. She was exhausted! And relieved! Never do that again, lady, you understand? I guess we should just be reported to the authorities for this week of cruelty. We'll try to do better.

Here is the picture of the exhausted, anxious Princess KittyCat, who with her last ounce of energy, managed to get up onto the corduroy comforter for her beauty sleep---denied to her all of these hours because of the careless humans who thoughtlessly do chores without taking into account the needs of the Queen.

The Stupid Feet Gazette

I've started a new magazine/newspaper. The title is above. So, the latest headline is :

"Right Foot Fail"

You know, like as in Fail Blog? I've got a torn posterior tibialis tendon. It means that the sharp pain I've been experiencing since late December isn't really ever going to go away until it is surgically repaired. I've put myself back into the storm trooper boot twice, trying to shore up my flat foot and make the pain go away. And it did, a couple of times. However, this last time, around the middle of February, I made an appointment with the podiatrist and got an MRI to see what in the heck was causing the seriously painful pain whenever I'd step down on my foot.

The instep is really where the problem is. Also I began to notice that my foot seemed extra flat lately. It's always been the flatter of my two feet. When I step out of the pool there is a complete duck print where that foot has been. My ankle sort of tips over and my toes have begun to point out to the right as though my foot is turning over, instead of curving up.

Well, according to the X-ray and the MRI, that is precisely what is occurring. I didn't realize that your foot arches up partly because the tendon attached around and under your arch is pulling it up toward your calf muscle, to which it is attached. Or should be attached. Mine is disintegrating. Shredding. Pulling apart like an old worn out rope. Hence, the pain. And since it isn't holding up my foot snugly as it should, my foot isn't up any longer. It is collapsed and sunken and as I walk on the side of it, the bones which should be arched up over the sole of my foot, are being shoved off to the right and misaligned.

So, in thirteen days, I have a surgery scheduled to attempt a repair of the various collapsed, torn and misaligned parts of my foot. And I'm feeling quite anxious about it. I can't NOT do it, because my foot is seriously in pain and it will only continue the deterioration. But, there are so many ramifications.

I must sit with the foot propped for six weeks following the surgery---no weight bearing at all. No, you may not go to school in a wheelchair, even. How are you going to drive over there? It isn't even realistic to imagine that you can have your foot propped above your heart while seated in a wheelchair. No, you aren't going to your nephew's wedding in Houston---too bad that you just bought the tickets before you found out about the foot. No, you won't be going up to your granddaughter's class during Spring Break.

But, at least the nephew's brother is getting married next weekend and I can go to that one and meet all the relatives there. And I can go to visit S-Boogie's classroom on that trip. And we've solved a problem with my class: the principal has been bugging us for years to swap classes this trimester---the fifth grader writing teacher and myself. But we've resisted for many reasons. She'd like to see if he can get a head start with the upcoming class for the Nevada Writing Test which is held in January. So, instead of a sub for my class, the sub will be in his class and he will take over mine for the six weeks that I am out. The good news: he will write his own lesson plans. I'll be helping him to figure out what his class can do--like some type of big research project. Not birds, they did that last year with me.

But---I'm missing the best time of the year in school! Bike rodeo, field day, Family Picnic Day, Spring Arts Festival, research reports!! (I love teaching research reports because I assign everyone a bird and we go nuts over birds for two weeks. They come away from the experience in love with birds and much more knowledgeable about web searching, book searching and writing reports.) So, I'm bummed and sad.

Plus, I feel like I'm on a runaway train. I'm just going along for the ride and I know it won't be much fun. I'm sick to death of clumping around in the storm-trooper boot and I'm looking at four straight months---I put it on Feb. 17 and it won't be coming off till June. Blah. And I hate being a patient...see that word...patient? I'm so not.

So, blah, blah and blah...That is the latest news from the land of aggravating feet. Old lady-ness, genetics and inflammation---all this mess is the result of forces over which I have no power. Blah.

Don't Do It

I mean don't go to the store when you are hungry. Tonight, I left school rather late, but I knew that CoolGuy was going to grill a pork loin for supper. All I needed to do was come home and gather up the side dishes to serve with it and we could sit down to our usual ritual of dinner and Jeopardy! on Tivo.

Except that I stopped off at the grocery store to get another package of Smarties so I could pass them out to my testing students about half-way through the test. I've got a group of students who qualified through a language test to have the math portion read aloud to them. So...anyway, I needed Smarties.

But then I remembered I also needed a couple of onions, and oh---yeah, sliced Swiss cheese. Oooh, look they have Greek olive flavored hummus....and those California rolls look good, I could eat them for lunch tomorrow. Do I want extra wasabi and ginger? Oh, I should get CoolGuy some of that Italian bread he likes so he can have a pork sandwich for lunch tomorrow. Hmmm...cinnamon raisin bread for toast. That's right, I'm out of orange marmalade. Now where is that candy aisle? Bush's baked beans! I used the last small can yesterday, I should get a few more. Tiny hamburger buns! How cute! I'll make me a sandwich on them for tomorrow. Oh, these raisins have a reseal bag, I'll get them, I know mine are all gone. Fish fillets...they might be tasty to microwave for Thursday when CoolGuy's out of town. Eek, I just remembered I'm out of granola bars for the test-takers--these are on sale, good. Oh, I'll just go over there and get some of that naan to eat with the hummus for dinner tomorrow.

Yes, I did indeed buy all of those items when I actually only intended to go in quickly and pick up a bag of Smarties. And, of course, they'd didn't even have any Smarties. I'll just give the testers Jolly Ranchers from my drawer. They always love Jolly Ranchers.

Moral: go home, eat dinner, then go out and pick up that ONE THING you needed.

Places of the Heart

Do you get feelings about places? I mean, when you drive past a certain place, do you get an emotional reaction? As I drove up the street away from my school, I realized tonight that seeing the temple made me feel terrific. I smiled without realizing why for a minute. So I began to think about other locations that evoked an emotional response when I saw or passed through them.

Beaver, Utah, makes me irritated. Sorry, Beaverites...it is actually those two shark-like tire shysters that ply their smarmy trade on unsuspecting motorists that cause me to set my jaw and narrow my eyes as I drive through your town.

My stomach tightens, and I get anxious, when I drive past a hospital. I just don't like going to hospitals. I've had just enough bad times in a variety of them to have made an impression of unhappiness in their zone.

I always smile when I drove by Weinerschnitzel. I discovered this fast food franchise when I first moved to San Diego several decades ago, and I still like their chili dogs.

Two places that cause instantaneous relaxation is the beach and the top of the mountain pass that leads into the valley where I was born and raised. The beach is a total no-brainer. Every single time I get to the coast, I get out of the car and stand on the edge of the ocean and think to myself, "Now why did I move away from here??" The scent, the breeze, the sound of the surf, the very feel of the air...I'm more relaxed just sitting here typing a description of it. Imagine how much better it is to be standing there.

The Salt River Pass. I moved away from there 40 years ago, yet, each and every time I've driven up over that pass, I am compelled to stop the car, get out and marvel at the view of "my" mountains. They are almost like relatives. They're always there. They'll always be there. They welcome me home with affection and don't mind that I moved away. They just stand there guarding the valley with eternal vigilance. My plan is to see them on Resurrection Day. They'll still be there. It's home.

We have a series of photos on this very spot...First with no children, then with babies, see them growing? Finally, we're taking shots of just us. But we simply have to stop, every time.

Timely Advice

Today we woke up to snow. Well, snow on the mountain, anyway. But, instead of the snow being all the way across the valley, shining from the nearly 8000 foot height of the western perimeter of Sin City, it was dusted half-way down the 4000 foot rocky promontory that juts up behind our neighborhood. Whoo-hooo! There had been heavy rain down here in the valley, and it was chilly. Last night, as we went out to the hot tub, it was real darn cold. But snow! And it was beautiful, too, with the bright blue sky, and sparkling clear air.

Our church is located at the top of hill and it has a magnificent view of the entire valley from the parking lot and steps. The east side of Las Vegas is on the edge of the bowl that makes the valley, and while it is not the "cool" part of town, it does have the very best scenery. We can see all the way to the south where the highway cuts through the canyon on the way down to Hoover Dam. We can see the curve of the horizon to the north where the mountains open up to the Great Basin and the highway heads into the vast open spaces where the government hides Area 51. We have an unrestricted view of the stunning Red Rocks Canyon, framed by Mt. Potosi on the south and Mt. Charleston to the north. For a"barren desert," Las Vegas is blessed with remarkable natural wonders.

Now, about that advice mentioned in the title...I arrived at church to participate in a regional conference. Every stake in the entire state of Nevada, and a couple of areas in California and Arizona were all a part of a closed-circuit broadcast from Salt Lake City. At first, I was somewhat un-enthused. I actually enjoy stake conferences. I like to hear from people in my area and get their point of view and their testimonies. I wasn't sure about going to a presentation from SLC. We get to do that twice a year, and I like it. But, stake conference is sort of special. However, it was superb. The speakers were general authorities with a personal connection to Nevada, and they explained their associations. The stories that several of them used to illustrate their point were about people in various parts of our state. The life problems they each addressed, while not exclusive to Nevada, are particularly acute here right now. It was timely, personal and very spiritually nourishing. Silly me for being a crank. At least I didn't go around whining about it before-hand. Only you and I know about my reservations.

The advice, the advice...I realize that there are only a few things that God actually requires from us: obedience, acknowledgement, service. And that is what they discussed today. But, again, the way in which they addressed these timeless themes went straight to my soul:

• patience in affliction
• recognition of God's hand in all things
• the scriptures are our modern-day Liahona: when Lehi's family was rebellious, whiny and lacking in faith, the Liahona didn't work. If we are rebellious, whiny and don't consult the scriptures and God in prayer, we won't get personal revelation to guide and comfort us, either.
• our difficulties can either strengthen our faith or drive us away from God, depending on who we decide to follow: man or God
• God and Jesus Christ know us personally and care deeply: are we not more valable than many sparrows?
• patience means being willing to submit to the Lord's will and to recognize what we cannot change
• walk the walk, don't just talk the talk, of a faithful follower of Christ

So, after the meeting, I felt buoyed up and ready to face the future. I know my concerns aren't insurmountable. Some of them are a great burden to me, but I'm not carrying the burden alone. I know what to do now. I mean, I've always known, but I feel reinforced and refreshed and bright and clear as all that snow glittering on the mountains that surround me.

Spring is Peeking Around the Corner

Today, I realized that tiny little leaves were sprouting on the trees in our parking lot!

Today, as I drove around town, I saw trees that were bursting with pink blossoms.

Today, I actually had to turn on my air conditioner while driving on the freeway, because it was too warm inside my car and I couldn't roll down the window going that fast.

Springtime in Sin City!

They Say It's Your Birthday!

It's my birthday, I've been properly feted with the Beatle's song---a family tradition. Now I'll go to school and hear the birthday song performed as a dirge by my class (they always sing it so s-l-o-w-l-y...not sure why) and then I'm passing out Jolly ranchers instead of cupcakes because I have 107 students. They'll want to know how old I am, and I'll make them do the math. Sometimes a person who isn't quite adept at borrowing across zero will announce in loud awe, "She's 158 years old!" No, it just feels that way sometimes.

I decided to borrow from this blog to reflect on the past decade. In February 2001, we were still just a family of seven. Three children had left home, two of them had served missions---our daughter arrived back from Spain just that month. We still had two boys living at home and going to high school. I taught fourth grade, CoolGuy tested new stuff on remote control spy airplanes. By the end of 2001, we'd had two weddings, our own temple sealing and the family sealing. Oh, and a scary new war for me to worry that someone might decide would be a necessary place to send CoolGuy.

The decade really whizzed by: no more high school students; no more marching band; no more Boy Scouts; no more parent conferences; no more early-morning seminary; the final missionary out and back; the first Peace Corps volunteer; college graduations; my very own passport stamps! In Arabic! CoolGuy traveling the world to places where people blow stuff up, hoping you go up with it.

Funerals... and funerals...my sister, my mother, my aunt, my uncle, married children's new relatives, my brother-in-law. Too many of those funerals were held decades sooner than we'd anticipated.

Babies!! Four of our very own grandchildren came to dote on and love and spoil and fret over.

Kids moving out, then back in briefly while they transitioned off to, and back from, selfless adventures in serving others. Little did they know (or maybe they did) that I would have loved to have any of them stay longer. But they were full-fledged adults and, having done it myself, it's too hard to go back with your parents for very long once you've flown the nest.

I moved across the country to get back home in the West--and be closer to family members--especially the grandchildren. It was the first time we moved for my job. It isn't any easier that way. I started a graduate degree...twice. I hope to finish it before another decade has passed!

We started new family traditions: reunions, camping at the beach, spending Christmas at their houses, professional family photo shoots, Facebook birthdays, blogs and learning new languages.

I won money playing games on TV; I've been published in two magazines; I was interviewed on radio and television news. I've had six "minor" surgeries...believe me...that's a misnomer. I've still got long hair! It's mostly silver instead of gold. I've lost some more teeth. I'm still up for adventure, and someday I'll get to Israel with CoolGuy.

In the meantime, I'd just like to still be here to chronicle the decade when I have a birthday in 2021.

It Always Somtin' Lucy

Thurday, we had ward temple night. I was available so I left school as soon as the tutoring students finished and headed home to change. I had a bowl of cereal for dinner (CoolGuy was back east) and drove the four or five blocks up there.

I was fishing in my wallet for the card that entitles me to attend the temple, and as I got it out to show the gentlemen at the front desk, I realized a dreadful thing. I'd been too neat, and as a result, the valid version of this document was not in the wallet. The one I'd handed over was expired last October. He pointed that out as I told him, "Oh, no that is the expired one." (We could have have crossed pinkies.) Oops. One alternative was to call up someone to the front desk who would then phone a strategic person from my ward who could give him information that would admit me, but I said, "No, that won't work, those people are all inside here already." So I said I'd go home and look on my desk, since I live nearby.

However, I was pretty sure I'd shredded it along with expired Auto Club card, empty gift cards and some other debris I'd cleaned out of purse last week. I'd found both versions of this card in my purse and looked at the names, seeing my bishop's signature on one (and stupidly not verifying the dates) I tossed the other one. But...since the last time I'd sat for this interview, the man who'd signed it as a counselor to the stake president had become my bishop, so his signature was on both of the papers. DOH. And, no, I couldn't find that little card anywhere. So, I stayed home and read a chapter for my college class and went to bed early.

Friday morning, I called the bishop and explained the faux pas and asked what I could do for Saturday morning: our women's group was meeting at the temple early. He went way out of his way to arrange for another gentleman to meet us at the church right after work on Friday and and get me new card issued, signed and logged into the computer system. It was very thoughtful.

Now, Saturday morning, I woke up with horrible intestinal malaise and cramping and pain. I didn't dare go twenty feet from my bathroom door. By noon, when CoolGuy's plane was due, I felt secure enough to go to the airport and pick him up, but came straight home for a nap. Now, I have a fever. Blah.

But I also have a valid temple recommend and that is a relief, because I would have been very dismayed to have experienced that Thursday night moment in Salt Lake City attempting to attend my nephew's wedding next month.

Happy Birthday Daddy

It seemed weird to write "Daddy" when referencing my dad, but that is what I always called him, even when I was an adult. So, even though it looks funny, it really is my reference point. Today is his birthday. He would have been 88 years old. I know I've talked about Birthday Week before: we had three within six days. And my mother would always squeeze in a cherry pie to honor George Washington between the birthday cakes. She loved to bake. We loved to eat. A match made in heaven. The match is actually in Heaven now, for almost five whole years.

In an essay called "Eleven" Sandra Cisneros wrote: "What they don't understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you're eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one....Because the way you grow old is kind of like an onion or like the rings inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one." This is true in my own life. It is probably a truth for us all. I realize that when my parents married, they weren't just the adults that appear in the photo, but they were also the children who had grown up to become that young couple.

They both grew up during the Great Depression. But my mother's family was relatively secure on their small dairy farm, with her father an accomplished carpenter. She was the little sister in a loving family, living in a close community, enveloped by an enormous network of relatives. It was the very picture of security. My dad's family was fractured by his mother's death when he was just six years old. His father was involved in a questionable enterprise (he helped his brother bootleg liquor) and there was no large, loving family especially because his own grandmother didn't acknowledge their relationship. Then his father died two years later, followed the next day by the death of his father who'd been living in his son's home to help with the three little children. Orphaned at age eight, left destitute, taken in by relatives---he grew up quickly, always a little worried that he might not be allowed to stay there either. Despite growing up just 25 miles apart, and attending the same high school, their childhood worlds were completely different.

Yet, they joined up as a team, and worked hard to have a stable family life for us. I realize that my mother's expectation was that her childhood was "normal" and that was how a family should be. Lucky us! My dad thrived in her orbit. She told me once that he was really "hard" when they were first married, and that she'd had to soften him up. Meaning---help him to relax and realize that he was now part of a new loving family and no one would push him away. He didn't have to "deserve" it or be "useful" in order to compensate for his keep. She simply loved him as her mother had loved her father, and she passed that on. Grandma had made a pleasant home in which she provided comfort and love to her family, and my mom did the same from that example. Daddy, in response, did all that he could to provide a living and life for our family. His devotion to our mother was the soil in which the whole enterprise flourished.

On this anniversary of his birthday, I want to acknowledge what a magnificent gift their legacy has been to me as their child. I was bequeathed optimism, thoughtfulness, the desire to share my bounty with my fellow man, and a faith in God as our loving Father. I'm rich beyond belief as a result. It is my life goal to pass on this heritage to my own husband and children.

Helicopter Copping

For the last 10 minutes a police helicopter has been circling my house. Yes, shining its light all over my back and front yards! It is probably looking onto the cul-de-sac behind our street, I realize, but it is starting to unnerve me to have its continued presence thwack-thwack-thwacking overhead. So, I went outside to look around. There are cop cars blocking off the streets at both ends of my block, and all the other entrances and exits, too. Hmmmm...doesn't look good.

I went back inside and checked all my locks and set my alarm so if a window or door is opened a loud siren will go off. I hope the helicopter leaves soon. I realize now that I heard sirens about 20 minutes ago, then squealing tires out in the street right in front of my house, and saw flashing lights through the slits of my closed blinds while I sit here procrastinating my school work.

I don't like having a helicopter circling my house. Hurry and catch your prey and beat it. Hurry.

Fun With Websites

Here are CoolGuy and I as cartoons:I think his looks quite realistic.

Mine is a version of me about 15 years ago.

What do you think?

It Works

Regular exercise, I mean--it works. Not that I've been exercising especially regularly. However, each of the last four Saturdays, I have ridden my bicycle for at least 30 minutes. Last Sunday, I rode up (and I do mean up) to choir practice, too. The good thing about that is the return trip which involves: sit on bicycle, point it downhill, coast all the way to our house.

Today, I rode over to my school at 8:00 A.M. because we were having CRT Camp. (I'll explain later...) Then, I just returned at noon and I was quite pleased to realize that I pedaled the entire way back, shifting to a lower gear for the rises, but I did not need to stop and rest at all. I kept moving forward the whole time. This is a first. It is about 1.6 miles to my school. The wind was in my face and it is a slight incline for most of the return trip. And I did it without stopping to rest! Yea! Now, I just need to work it out so I ride two more days a week, not necessarily to school, but at least around the blocks near my house. It's a goal that this summer at the beach, I not look like I did last summer in my suit---eeewwww is all I'll say about that.

CRT Camp: wherein we teachers plan a test-skills-centered Saturday mini-session for our grade level. Fourth graders were invited to come today at 9:00 -- 11:00. We had about 45 students come (out of 104--pretty good), of course few of the ones who really need it most were there. But several were, so that will help. We held short sessions---25 minutes each---and rotated. We each took different strategies and practiced them. My emphasis was the written answers in math: use a diagram, chart, graph or pictures to show how you solved it. Write your equation, use arrows and words to show your steps. Voila: you will have explained it to the reader. None of these skills is new---we're just reiterating because in two weeks we're up to our necks in testing.

CRT Camp goes by so quickly that the students were amazed that it was over already. The only little hiccup was actually vomit. One poor little girl lost her breakfast between the last two sessions. We only had 15 minutes left by the time we got her settled and the barf covered up, so she just sat at a table with her head down until the parents came. She was embarrassed and felt awful, too, so it wasn't such a good time for her. But the rest of us? We'll be back on the 26th for session two!

PS: Happy Birthday Abraham Lincoln--1809-1865. Go learn about him on this link.

Teeth Tales

One thing about getting older is that my teeth have darkened. Although, it could also be the coca-cola I often drink for breakfast. But for years, I didn't drink any soda, and my teeth still yellowed. At any rate, I've tried an assortment of whiteners over the years. The icky trays, and the little strips that you wear around for a few minutes, trying not to swallow. The trouble is, these products usually leave my teeth too sensitive. So, I've settled for my twice yearly dental hygenist visit to enjoy lighter, brighter teeth for the few weeks after a cleaning.

Then, I read about a new toothbrush. It was advertised to have microscopic gritty bits on the bristles that would scrub off the stains. So I went looking for it. However, that brand (which I cannot remember the name of now...) had an empty spot on the shelf at the drugstore. Apparently other people had read the same ad. However, I did find my favorite brand of toothbrush, OralB, also featured a disposable battery-operated "whitening" toothbrush. It needed to be used in conjunction with a whitening toothpaste, so I chose Crest 3D Whitener.

It has been exactly one month, and I can see a significant difference in the color of my teeth. Yea! They are much whiter and, as a result, I think my smile is much more appealing. So, if you're unhappy with the stained appearance of your teeth, you might try one of those new whitening toothbrushes and see if you get a shinier smile, too.

Also, I know---I should give up the soda at breakfast. It's bad for my teeth, my waistline and my arteries. I'm working on it. At least I only consume one can each day. Getting enough sleep would be an excellent step in the right direction, so I'll sign off now.

Too Much

Today, I opened an e-mail that was curt and very pointed. The writer had no other choice, actually. I have failed to fullfill my obligation to her. I did sign up to write lessons to develop a curriculum for tobacco prevention in elementary school. I did have a deadline. I did fail to meet it. I did fail to notify her in a timely way if and when I'd be meeting it.

I have no excuse, either. I just found myself up to my eyeballs in everything else, and I didn't spend time to take care of that obligation. I have a rough draft. I spent an hour and a half after school today working on the revisions suggested to me from our last meeting. But, it isn't done and everytime I think about finishing it, my brain shuts down.

I don't remember ever having this sort of thing happen to me before. I don't know what makes this particular assignment so dreadful to me. I'm being paid, it isn't volunteer. I will go and cook dinner and then I will drag myself back to the computer and type more. I promised it would be completed by Wednesday, so Wednesday it will be.

Next year---I will not obligate myself for so many projects. Even if they are paid. Apparently, I have a maximum amount my brain can handle, and I seem to have found that limit. Blah.

Ice Castle in the Desert

It was very cold here the last few days. Brrr....

I know, I know---it was a lot colder in other places. Yeah, yeah. I've lived in some of them. That's why I live here now. It's not supposed to have temperatures cold enough to do this when the lawn sprinkler system comes on at midnight.

See that swimming pool in the background there? It's just wrong to have icicles in the same yard as a swimming pool.

It could be worse. I could have been driving along Lakeshore Drive in Chicago (look at # 22). Or milking cows in Star Valley, Wyoming. I'm looking forward to the weekend. We're supposed to get back to our regular 65 degrees.

Moving On

You know, we had one of my most squirrely boys move to another school this week, and (I really feel badly acknowledging this) I'm so relieved.

#1 He won't be counted in our test scores.
#2 He was such an exhausting child to have in class.

But, at least I also have regrets.

#1 We'd figured out a plan to help him improve, we were implementing it and he was making gains. I don't know if he'll get it at his next school.
#2 He and I had developed a rapport, and I hope his new teacher will try to do that, too.

I'm glad he got to go on the field trip with us. He really enjoyed learning from the real world like that. Plus, his mom told me at parent conferences that she doesn't take him places because he's too much trouble and she was very clear that she doesn't like him much. Poor kid. New house, new school, same mother.

Testing, Testing

I had a conversation this afternoon with a mother whom I believe is quite well informed, and whose child is now in high school. We were discussing something about education and I pointed out the theory that I've been mulling over, with a friend, that until children have a stake in the "high stakes" testing, it will remain difficult to motivate certain students to do well. Anyway, this mother expressed genuine surprise that the CRT tests that she knows are given every year are not a part of her child's grades. That this hugely important test is only important to the school's ranking, not the student's ranking or status or GPA.

I admit I was completely startled that she didn't know that. I thought after all the years that we've been giving these CRT (criterion referenced tests) that parents understood that the test is measuring the schools. Yes, yes, the students get a score, but it doesn't go on the student's report card nor affect whether they are passed on to the next grade --- in elementary school, that is. In high school, there are proficiency exams that are criterion referenced which must be passed in order to graduate. But the CRT's in elementary are only used as a way to rate the school.

[Actually, in my school, we use these scores to rank students and help us figure out who needs extra help. But the extra help is designed to get a passing score on the test--yes, as a by-product, the students should learn more, and gain mastery over certain skills, but the real goal is a higher percentage of passing scores so that the school can maintain its ranking as making "Adequate Yearly Progress."]

What I'm asking here is, are there other parents---a lot or a few---who don't realize that all this work and focus and effort isn't part of what we grade? Now, I realize that if a student is skilled enough to get above the "cut-off score" on the high-stakes yearly test, then in all likelihood, that student is also getting passing scores on their report card. But, seriously, the whole focus of our school year is that CRT test--it's all about the rankings.

I'm not stating that our ranking is irrelevant--I got a cash bonus last fall because we'd scored so well in our school. I know that I love working at my school because we are all aware of each student's ranking and we do give extra instruction, strategies and tutoring to the students who are "on the bubble" [almost passing] so that they can push on through to a passing score this year. It helps the students---they are learning more. But, again, it's about our ranking. That is our motivation as stated over and over again by our leader.

What I was wondering, though, is whether there is some way we can give the students a stake in this, too? We have informal ways: we have a drawing at our school for every kid who passes both the math and reading tests. All of their names go into the hat and the teachers and staff members all agree to donate prizes: iPod touch, movie tickets, gift cards for games and stores and restaurants, etc. So, a reward party is given. Also, my grade level is planning our own ice cream party for the students who pass one or both, and we're going to give an Olympic-type medal to the those who pass both. Then we're photographing them and making a poster to put in our Hall of Fame.

But, by the time kids get into 5th and 8th grades, where the tests are given (and some 4th graders, too) there are those who really don't give a hoot whether they pass or not. They don't like tests, they don't really care about the results and so they just blithely go through and check off...whatever...on their scantron sheet. Big deal, they shrug.

What if they couldn't be promoted if they didn't get a passing score? Would they be more diligent? Would the students get more help, or more encouragement, or more "You better do a good job or else..." insistence/help from home if parents knew their child would be repeating a grade until they could show mastery of reading and math at that grade level through this CRT?

Discuss...(and, hey, let me know your thoughts and experience on this topic.)

Field Trip!

It was 60 degrees today, the sky was the clearest blue, and we got to spend the whole morning outside tramping around in the Wetlands Park here. We had a field trip! Yea! Everyone was very excited! We finally managed to calm down enough to get out to the bus and sit down so the driver could get us there. I went with one of my fellow 4th grade teachers. The facility can only accomodate about 65 children at a time, and the bus only holds 75, so we divided up our grade level and scheduled two trips. The other classes will go on March 17th. We were lucky to even get any dates at all.

This is one of the most popular destinations here for elementary schools and they have limited openings. If you want your students to have this opportunity, you must call their office at 8:01 A.M. on the first day that teachers go back to work in August. This year, I temporarily lost attention, and didn't call until mid-morning....arrrgghhh! I was so relieved when there were still a couple of days open. Both of our dates were at the end of critical testing blocks, but we anticipated this trip and tested the traveling students first so they were finished for today. And the other team will be finished by their date, also. I'm sure the testing schedule is the only reason those two dates were still available.

Volunteer guides take us around the trails and really engage the students in "seeing" nature. Each student gets a field book and a pencil, a pair of binoculars, a magnifying lens and even a sling to secure their water bottle so their hands can be free to take notes and look at cool stuff. We get to keep the notebooks, but return the lenses, binocular and water bottle slings at the conclusion of the day. The whole concept is that the students are part of the NSI team: Nature Special Investigators (get it...like CSI?? It's the LAS VEGAS Wetlands Park...) You can actually see the skyline of the strip from the trails.

We had a blast. We saw tracks in the mud from racoons, bunnies and coyotes. We listened to quail calls, we saw a shrike perched on a bare tree. We picked apart dessicated coyote "scat" with sticks to look at the rabbit bone fragments and, in another pile, we found the seeds from the honey mesquite -- the coyote's diet when rabbits are scarce. We found owl pellets and rabbit droppings and watched three snowy egrets soar slowly over the cattails as they looked for a likely fishing spot. We examined a stick that had gnawing marks left by a beaver (there are 17 beaver living in this wetlands--who knew??) We watched a turtle swim and saw many American coots. (No, really, they are a bird--not old guys taking a walk muttering about young boys who need to pull up their jeans..) Mallards flew overhead and a hummingbird fluttered by. Whew, it was simply divine.

We were divided into groups of about 10 students and their accompanying adults. The group I attached myself to had four of my most squirrely dudes. These fellows have varying official diagnoses that have resulted in each having an IEP, daily meds, and invitations to the counselor's social skills groups. But I like each of them a lot. They are quite intelligent despite their unusual personalities, and are very sweet, and we're good friends. They were on fire today! We need to go somewhere like this everyday and learn and read and write while investigating the real world. Seriously---I'd like to take them to a fire station, or the electric generating plant, or the kitchen of a big restaurant. Anywhere where real life is occuring would be such a magnet for their curious, investigating natures. We could see things and figure them out and then go back and get books and read some more things and write authentically. They were right on the heels of our guide, pointing out interesting tidbits, answering her questions, coming up with really intriguing queries about the next new thing. Wow. We learned today. Ain't nothing like the real thing, baby.

Ten Days....

That is how long it has been since I posted here. I've been very busy! Here are a few of the events that kept me away from the computer.

We spent the weekend of CoolGuy's birthday in Utah with two of our children and our grandchildren. The only reason I'd venture into the frozen northland in January is to spend time with family--believe me. The baptism event was terrific. The ceremony was bi-lingual because one set of grandparents is much more comfortable speaking and listening in Spanish. In fact, there were only about six of us in attendance who are not fluent in both languages, so much of the translation was for our benefit. Our son baptized his little boyand offered the prayer in each language. Their abuela from Argentina gave a lovely talk about baptism and our daughter translated her words into English. Jacob's confirmation was performed in Spanish by our son's dear friend, also an Argentine native, who then explained the gist of the blessing in English. The other grandfather gave a talk about the Holy Ghost, again professionally translated for the non-Spanish speakers by our daughter. (Good thing she got that second bachelor's degree in Spanish translation, huh?) Tears were shed due to the Spirit of God we all felt.

We reconvened at our son's house for food and conviviality, with all the children playing up a storm in the bedroom and all the adults talking up a storm in the living room. It was all in Span-glish, too. With the exception of CoolGuy and I, everyone else could speak Spanish well. But, the other grandparents have limited English skills. I can follow a conversation in Spanish, but I cannot make any sentences. So, we'd be telling funny stories, and it would get translated whichever way it needed to go, and then the other half of the family would laugh. It was quite a good time.

As all the guests had finally departed, it was pretty sweet to find our grandson busily looking up the scriptures from his "Scripture A Day" calendar in his new Book of Mormon and underlining them. I heard that later, he sat at the kitchen table and sang songs to himself from the pocket-sized, personalized hymn book I'd given him for a gift. He is truly his grandma's and abuela's pride and joy.

The next day, we met at our daughter's house for dinner to honor Grandpa CoolGuy. She made yummy food (including German chocolate cake for dessert) and we ate and laughed and talked and told funny stories again. And the kids played and played and played. Good times.

But Monday morning came and we had to leave. Bah. At least it was a beautiful day (cold, but sunshiney) and the drive home was pleasant. I dashed through a week of fourth grade. I started my new college semester. I was at a school training all day on Saturday and now it's Sunday afternoon and I'm already behind for the weekend on things I wanted to get done. Sheesh....So, I'll just grade some papers, and write some letters and go onto WebCampus and see what else I'm supposed to have ready by Wednesday night for class. It is a hybrid class (which is a problem for me, I'm not good at computer chatting for college) and so some of our meetings are supposed to be on-line. I hope I don't mess it up. One good thing about webclasses is that there will be fewer mad dashes across town to the campus during rush hour this semester.

Here was the best thing about getting home to the desert on Monday evening: (that's the temperature gauge in CoolGuy's truck. It was about 5:00 P.M.)

Observations

Just a few, unrelated, thoughts.

Today, when I left the school at 5:45 P.M. the sky was still a little orange over the edges of the western mountains. Yea! The DarkTimes are leaving us! It is so nice to have the sun returning. Also, today it actually got all the way up to 60 degrees. The high on Monday was 42. Brrr...my face got cold during the 15 minutes we were out there directing traffic at 3:30. I'm ready for 75.

We've been using the laptop computer cart in my room all week. The students were typing a paper they wrote about a time they ate out at a restaurant or a fast food place. The goal was to use lots of adjectives to describe what they saw, tasted, smelled, felt and heard. It's been a challenge. Most of them can barely type. But we've been also learning how to use the spell check and the formating tools so that it isn't just me saying, "Oh look! You didn't put in any punctuation marks!" or "Umm...you have many misspelled words." When the computer refuses to go on until you choose the correct spelling of the word from the list, then it is a real teaching moment.

I'm headed off tomorrow to Utah to attend the baptism of our oldest grandson. It is a wonderful event. Also, because of the federal holiday to honor Dr. MLK on Monday, we don't even have to start driving back until Monday. Yea! CoolGuy is already up there, and I'm flying on Friday night. He was babysitting while the parents were taking care of the baby and her scary medical issues. But, good news! The problem wasn't what was predicted and so the solution is more benign. We're all relieved. Prayers have been answered.